Oberon
by My Fair Verona
Summary: PG-15. Nny's dead, a power struggle begins. Strong language, slight gore, plain writing style.
1. In which we meet the antilovers

She stepped out of the low-slung sports car and straightened her jacket. Pyr slammed her door and then stood beside her silently as she surveyed the house before them. It had the air of a child's nightmare; twisted, decrepit, and ominous to the point of absurdity. Somehow, the sun didn't shine there. "Nice," she said finally.  
  
Pyr grinned; it lit up his face. "I'm impressed, myself. Shall we go in?" He executed a mock bow, sweeping his long coat behind him as he peered up at her.  
  
She rolled her eyes and headed for the house. "If he's not here, I'm going to be sorely disappointed."  
  
"Oh, Thi. You're always disappointed, love." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he followed her, whistling.  
  
Upon reaching the door, Thisbe kicked it in with one booted foot and then shouldered her way through the wooden splinters to go inside. She immediately ducked her head into the collar of her coat, eyes watering. "Oh, Jisoa. Do you smell that?" The stench was overwhelming, the unmistakable scent of rotting flesh, defecation and all that accompanied death. If it sat there for six months.  
  
Pyramus glanced over her shoulder only to see a dim outline of the room. He rummaged around in his right hand pocket before pulling out a small flashlight. He shined it carefully around the room until it rested on the decayed remains of a body. "That's him!" he exclaimed cheerfully, as if Thisbe didn't already know.  
  
She stepped over a seemingly well-loved butcher knife lying on the scratched wooden floor and reluctantly bent down by the body. Now, which part was his head? It was hard to tell. "Looks like we got our man."  
  
Pyr was walking casually around the room, taking in the various hand held torture and death devices that lay scattered about. He knew the good stuff was downstairs. "Ah ha! A blood trail. Looks like our boy wasn't killed here."  
  
He snapped his gum and followed the path of dried blood to where it widened into a large puddle. "Who or what dragged his dead ass over there?"  
  
Thisbe, who had been listening to the scuttling in the corners, replied dryly: "Rats?"  
  
Pyr flashed her a smile and offered his hand to help her up. He pulled her to her feet and tucked a piece of ebony hair behind her ear before she could duck away and slap him. She frowned.  
  
"Shall we go to the basement?" he asked, as if she weren't glaring holes through him.  
  
"That's why we're here." She pushed past him roughly and headed for the basement door.  
  
"That time of the month, honey?" he called after her mockingly. She flicked him off without turning around, her black leather jacket near glowing in the faint light of his flashlight. From behind, it was hard to tell where hair ended and leather began. "Bitch," he said fondly.  
  
She was already heading down the stairs. He hastened to follow. 


	2. In which enchiladas fly

Jessica was sick.  
  
Her stomach rolled over on itself again and again, her fever spiked each half hour and then dropped again, leaving her a delusional, sweaty heap of agony on the cell floor. She couldn't keep liquid or solid down, it poured from her mouth minutes after ingestion. Sleep was nearly non-existent. Fever dreams were all that occupied her time, a tightrope walk between wakefulness and the hell of nightmares. They left her stunned and confused upon waking, and usually sobbing for mercy.  
  
"Jesus Christ," she breathed as she stretched out on the cool stone floor. It soothed the burn that roiled below the surface of her skin. Her sweaty cheek was pressed against the floor but it didn't seem to be helping her fever. She groaned in agony as another wave of nausea swept over her, pushing bile up the back of her throat.  
  
The inside of her mouth felt was unbearably hot. She wanted an ice cube, but knew that the melting ice would only cause her to vomit. Surely this was hell. They had killed her and now she was paying the ultimate price, and eternity of illness, such as she inflicted on Caden. What had they done to her? Had they fed her arsenic too?  
  
She felt the reverberations before she heard the noise. Someone was walking down the hallway, perhaps a guard. They were whistling, as well. She recognized the song. It was some macabre rock tune that had been relatively popular on the radio months and months ago. The person seemed to forget himself and began to sing. "I'm loosing my sight, loosing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I'm fine." It wasn't a him at all. She seemed to black out for a moment, dizziness overcoming her. ".feeding on chaos, and living in sin."  
  
Jess' breathing calmed so as to not draw attention to herself. The guards could be malicious and even if she had never seen a female guard before, she wasn't willing to take chances. "Searching to find a love upon a higher level, finding nothing but questions and devils." The reverberations were so close her head seemed to pound in time with the woman's steps. Her voice was almost mocking, as it grew loud enough to burst Jess' ears.  
  
Finally a pair of boots came into her view. They paused, the shaking stopped. The woman crouched down so Jessica could see her. "Cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort. Suffocation, no breathing. Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding," the woman sang. It seemed like she was speaking to Jess, only to Jess. Her eyes were the bluest Jess had ever seen, ringed in black kohl. "Would it be wrong, would it be right if I took my life tonight. Chances are that I might. Mutilation out of sight, and I'm contemplating suicide." She stopped, and then smiled warmly, shoving a switchblade between the bars to skitter across the rocky floor and come to rest by Jess' hand. "Think about it," the woman said. And stood. And left.  
  
Jessica sobbed on the floor, but her fingers curled around the knife.  
  
  
  
  
  
Thisbe ran her arm across her forehead, wiping away the drops of sweat that had accumulated from their hours of searching. She leaned against a blood- splattered wall and sighed. "This is fucking pointless."  
  
Pyramus looked over his shoulder and winked at her. "Ah, come on. You know you love doing this as much as I do. Hey, lookit this machine!" He sat on what he assumed was the seat of the thing. "I guess this would crush your skull or something. Wow. Creative. Look at the craftsmanship of this lever device. How clever."  
  
"Are you done? I'm starving." She pulled up the sleeve of her leather bomber jacket to glance at her Rolex. "It's way past lunch."  
  
Pyr ran his hand through his immaculately styled blonde hair. It fell perfectly back into place as he stood up and shrugged. "Taco Hell sound good?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
Thi gracefully stood and jogged up the stairs to the upper level of the house and towards fresh air and tacos. Pyr grabbed a suspicious-looking handheld device to study over lunch and followed her, carefully avoiding broken stairs. "I'm pleased with how this is going," he commented as they pushed through the mess Thi had made of the front door out into open space and civilization.  
  
"I'll bet you are, you sick bastard."  
  
If Pyramus was offended, he didn't show it. "I'm a psychologist. This is supposed to interest me. And it does."  
  
"A psychologist?" Thisbe snorted in an un-ladylike fashion. She fished her car keys out of her pocket and unlocked the driver's side.  
  
"Yeah. And you're the hired muscle." Pyr ruffled her hair affectionately and ducked a half-hearted punch aimed at his face, barely. He scampered over to the other side of the car and slid in with a maniacal grin on his face.  
  
"I knew we shouldn't have taken this job," Thi griped as she started the car and pulled away from the curb. "It just gives you an excuse to get all philosophical and make me hang around carcass-strewn rooms."  
  
"And what's wrong with that?"  
  
"No action. That's what. And don't forget, we were sent there to find something else entirely."  
  
"His diary. Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that."  
  
Thisbe tossed him a glare that nearly made him wince. She had the flattest, deadest eyes he had ever come across on a living creature. They were a beautiful shade of green, but the lack of emotion behind them made them horrific in a way he couldn't describe. He adored her eyes. She turned her gaze back to the road and he smiled.  
  
"So we find the diary," he continued. "Find the new waste lock, and we're done. Maybe you'll get to kick some ass, maybe not. Either way, it's quick cash."  
  
She couldn't argue with that logic. "True," she admitted grudgingly. She took a right turn, cutting off a bicyclist who proceeded to run into a light post. She flicked the radio on and tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. "Hey, did you hear what happened to Caden the other day?"  
  
  
  
  
  
They found Jessica at one in the morning, half dead. She lay in a pool of blood, feverish eyes staring towards the heavens. She was immediately taken to the prisoner's infirmary where she was treated for blood loss and poisoning.  
  
  
  
  
  
Motorcycles were too conspicuous. She had learned this the hard way on one of her very first jobs. Not only had the bike been blown up by the end, but she had been shot twice, as well. Now she stuck with rented cars, nice ones. She stuck with dark, unnoticeable colors and makes, took the license plates off as soon as she obtained them, and followed all the rules of trailing.  
  
Step one. Never get too close.  
  
They were four cars ahead of her, on a main road littered with strip malls and fast food joints. Humanity was presented at its absolute worst here. Traffic was congested and loud, people cut each other off and honked their horns, pollution made it hard for pedestrians to breathe, but they didn't care as long as they could make it over to Wal-mart.  
  
Step two. Don't take the same route.  
  
She hung right when they took a left and then hit the gas, peeling down Oak Street as soon as they were far away enough not to hear her squealing tires. She hung a right, and then another right, and then another, only to be stopped by red light. "Fuck." She watched as their car sped through the intersection. As soon as the light turned green, she followed. Only three cars behind.  
  
The sports car made a sudden turn, cutting off a bicyclist who promptly smashed into a light pole and then fell into rush hour traffic. He would live, she decided as she took the turn as well. Finally her prey pulled in at Taco Hell. She observed their parking spot as she drove by.  
  
Step three. Never, ever, park in the same parking lot.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I waaaaaaaant." Pyr tapped his chin thoughtfully as he regarded the menu. Thisbe smacked her forehead and sighed in obvious annoyance, having placed her own order five minutes ago. "Oh, I don't know. Surprise me."  
  
The bored-looking Taco Hell employee rolled his eyes and pushed a few random buttons. Pyr stepped to the side to await his 'surprise meal' with Thi.  
  
He pulled the small contraption he had taken from the basement out of his pocket. "Look at this, Thi. Isn't this the coolest thing you've ever seen?"  
  
"It looks like a spork," she replied flatly.  
  
"On this side, yeah. But it has this funnel thing for blood. And on this side, you have some sort of an eyeball gouger. Look, it even has little retractable claws to sever the optic nerve!"  
  
The teenage girl who was handing Thi their tray paled and backed away, her eyes flicked between the joyous expression on Pyr's face to the contraption he held.  
  
"Now you're scaring the help," Thisbe said sarcastically, grabbing up their tray and trying to find an unoccupied table.  
  
Without looking up from his new toy, Pyr navigated his way through the tables to an empty one with two lonely chairs. He sat down heavily. "I wonder what drives a person to make something like this. What goes through their head? Why do they think something like this is necessary?"  
  
Thi sat down and shrugged out of her jacket, letting it pool around her waist. Each of her wrists was wrapped in white bandages, all the way up to her elbows. She wore a black tank top underneath and a silver ankh on a chain around her pale neck. This alone drew Pyr's attention. Thisbe rarely took off her jacket and he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.  
  
"Looking good," he purred in an over-exaggerated manner. He blew a kiss at her and she threw one of the three enchiladas the bored Taco Hell employee had ordered for Pyr at his head with a muttered "Fuck you." He ducked and it hit an obese woman on the back of the head with a loud squelch. Pyr snickered when he noticed she didn't even feel it.  
  
"I detest you," Thisbe said, shoving a handful of mini tacos into her mouth.  
  
"Oh, you love me." 


End file.
